Chapter 21
Izzy stabbed at her chicken stir-fry with more force than necessary, the vegetables surrendering under her assault. Across Knight Tactical's kitchen island, Cory worked through his portion, probably counting his chews or whatever it was that kept him so perfectly regulated.
Stop cataloging his habits, Reyes. Focus on the case.
Cory groaned, rubbing his face. “It would be good if we could get a bead on that mechanic, Houzer. He knows something.”
"Tell that to those FBI goons."
Cory set down his fork. "They cleared him. No connection to MedFlight, clean employment record, no unusual financial activity."
"Since when has 'cleared by the FBI' meant innocent?" She pushed her plate away, appetite gone. "They also think I bombed my own car."
"They're exploring all angles." But his defense of federal procedure sounded halfhearted. Even Chief By-The-Book was getting frustrated with the investigation's pace.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. She grabbed it eagerly—any distraction from their circular conversations and the way Cory's presence filled every corner of the kitchen.
Kenji: Mission Update: Axel just wrestled a caribou. The caribou won.
Izzy snorted.
Axel: It was an ELK and it surprised me.
Kenji: Sure buddy. Maya got video.
Maya: Already uploaded to team folder.
"Your team?" Cory asked, and she realized she was smiling for the first time all day.
"Axel apparently tried to make friends with the local wildlife." She showed him the screen. "It went about as well as you'd expect."
His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "Surprised the elk survived."
"Right?" She typed back quickly.
Please tell me someone's getting screenshots for the Christmas party slideshow.
The response was immediate.
Zara: Helloooo? Already done. HD quality
Cory's phone rang before she could share more elk-wrestling updates. He answered with his official voice, the one that made her think of press conferences and perfect posture.
"Fraser. Go." A pause. "You're sure? Where? Have you dispatched a unit yet?" Another pause, longer. "You’re a wonder. Do me a favor. Hold off on that dispatch a while longer. We'll be right there."
He disconnected, already standing. "Graceline got a call from a shop owner downtown. Homeless woman dumpster diving wearing a distinctive jacket. Black with custom embroidery."
Izzy's heart lurched. "My jacket?"
"'Firecracker' on the back, flames around the lettering." He was already moving toward the door. "She's near the old train depot."
They grabbed coats and weapons. Cory checked his service pistol while she verified her Glock had a full magazine. Just another evening in their bizarre new normal.
The December night bit with sharp teeth as they exited the hangar in Cory’s personal SUV.
Downtown Hope Landing looked like a Christmas card had thrown up on it. Every streetlight wrapped in garland, every storefront twinkling with lights that reflected off the fresh snow. Even the old train depot—abandoned for twenty years—sported a wreath on its boarded-up door.
But the cozy smalltown cuteness barely registered. With her baby gone…and Andrew in full revenge mode, she wasn’t feeling the holiday vibe.
"There." Cory pointed to a figure huddled near the depot's covered platform.
The woman looked sixty but was probably younger, life on the streets aging her prematurely.
She wore multiple layers beneath the distinctive jacket on top, plastic bags wrapped around her boots for waterproofing.
A shopping cart held her worldly possessions, topped with a sleeping bag that had seen better decades.
Cory approached slowly, hands visible, no sudden movements. "Ma'am? I'm Chief Fraser with Hope Landing PD. We're not here to cause trouble."
The woman clutched the jacket tighter. "Didn't steal it. Found it fair and square."
"We know," Izzy said gently, recognizing the defensive fear. "We just want to know where you found it." She showed her Knight Tactical ID. "Someone took it, and we're trying to find them."
The woman studied the ID, then Izzy's face, then the ID again. "You're not gonna arrest me?"
"No, ma'am," Cory assured her. "But that jacket's evidence in a case. How about we trade? I've got a brand new winter coat in my vehicle. Warmer than that one."
He jogged back to the SUV while Izzy crouched near the woman, maintaining safe distance but trying to appear non-threatening.
"I'm Izzy. What's your name?"
"Rose." The woman fingered the jacket's embroidery. "Pretty stitching. Reminded me of my boy's motorcycle jacket."
"My friend Martha had it made special. Kind of embarrassing, actually." Izzy managed a small smile. "Where'd you find it?"
"Dumpster behind the Wagon Wheel." Rose shook her head. "Wasteful. Perfectly good jacket."
The Wagon Wheel Motel. Where Andrew had been staying. But he was too tall, too broad to fit in her jacket. Another piece that didn't work.
Cory returned with a heavy-duty parka, tags still attached. Emergency supplies, probably. The man planned for everything.
"This is warmer," he said simply. "Trade?"
Rose examined the new coat with an expert eye, checking zippers, testing the insulation. Finally, she nodded and shrugged out of Izzy's jacket.
"Finders keepers rules?" she asked hopefully.
"Absolutely," Cory agreed. "That's yours now."
As Rose bundled into the new parka, Izzy pulled out her phone. "One more thing. Do you recognize any of these people?"
She scrolled through the photos from the FAA hangar—Reed looking officious, Tom and Janet with their clipboards, the skinny mechanic trying to fade into the background.
"Him." Rose's grimy finger landed on the skinny mechanic without hesitation. "Twitchy guy. Saw him toss the jacket."
"You're sure?" Cory leaned in, all cop now.
"Got a good memory for faces." Rose tapped the screen again. "Definitely him. Looked nervous as a cat in a dog pound."
Izzy exchanged glances with Cory.
"Thank you, Rose." Cory pulled out his wallet, extracted two twenties. "For your help."
Rose snatched the bills before he could change his mind. "Didn't see nothing, if anyone asks."
"Fair enough," Izzy agreed.
They walked back to the SUV in charged silence. Her jacket went into an evidence bag Cory produced from his seemingly endless supply of law enforcement equipment.
"Brad Houzer," Izzy said once they were inside. "He wore my jacket to sabotage the helicopter."
"Appears so." Cory started the engine. "Address?"
She was already pulling up the employee database she'd screenshot at the FAA hangar. "1847 Desert View Road. Out past the old mining district."
"Twenty minutes." He pulled into traffic, jaw set with determination. "We're ending this tonight."
Izzy stared at him. "Wait. What?"
"You heard me."
"We're just... going? Right now?" She twisted in her seat to face him fully. "No calling the FBI? No backup? No seventeen forms filed in triplicate?"
His jaw tightened. "You have a problem with that?"
"A problem?" A laugh bubbled up, part shock, part delight. "Who are you and what have you done with Chief Fraser?"
"I'm adapting to circumstances."
"Adapting." She drew out the word, savoring it. "Is that what we're calling it when Mr. By-The-Book goes rogue?"
"I'm not going rogue." He took a turn faster than strictly necessary. "I'm pursuing a lead while it's fresh."
"Without backup."
"You're my backup."
"Without notifying the feds."
"Who would just slow us down with bureaucracy."
Izzy pressed a hand to her chest in mock shock. "Cory Fraser just said bureaucracy would slow us down. Quick, check the sky for flying pigs."
"You're enjoying this way too much."
"I really am." She couldn't stop grinning. "Should I mark this date? December 15th, the day Chief Perfect Procedure decided rules were meant to be broken?"
"Bent," he corrected, but she caught the twitch of his lips. "Rules can be bent in exigent circumstances."
"Exigent circumstances." She pulled out her phone. "I need to record this for posterity. Say it again—rules can be bent."
"Izzy."
"Come on, one more time. Deke will never believe me otherwise."
He shot her a look that should have been stern but landed somewhere closer to fond exasperation. "Are you done?"
"Not even close." She was practically bouncing in her seat. "This is the best thing that's happened all week. Cory Fraser, rebel without a cause. Do you feel dangerous? You should get a leather jacket. Maybe a motorcycle."
"I have a motorcycle."
That stopped her cold. "You what?"
"A Honda Goldwing. I ride on weekends sometimes."
She stared at him, reassessing. "You're full of surprises, Chief Fraser."
"Because I own a motorcycle?"
"Because you're human." The words slipped out before she could stop them, too honest for the moment.
His hands tightened on the wheel. "What did you think I was?"
"I don't know. A really attractive robot?" Heat flooded her face. Had she just called him attractive? "I mean, an efficient robot. A regulation-following robot."
"Attractive?" The corner of his mouth quirked up.
"Shut up. Focus on your rule-breaking." She turned to stare out the window, face burning. "Which I'm still not over, by the way. Does this mean you'll start jaywalking? Parking in fire lanes? The possibilities are endless."
"Let's start with questioning a suspect without federal oversight and see how it goes."
"Look at you, taking baby steps into anarchy." She risked a glance at him. "I'm so proud."
"You're impossible."
"And you're breaking protocol for me." The teasing note faded from her voice. "Why?"
He was quiet long enough that she thought he wouldn't answer.
"Because the FBI is looking at you as a suspect," he said finally. "They're wasting time building a case against you instead of finding who really did this. Every hour they waste puts you in more danger."
"So you're... protecting me?"
"It's my job."
"No," she said softly. "Your job was to hand this over to the feds and walk away. This is something else."
He glanced at her, something raw in his expression before he focused back on the road. "Rules are important. But people are more important. Someone taught me that recently."
The words hung between them, weighted with meaning neither seemed ready to explore.
Her phone buzzed, saving them from the moment. Another text from the team, but she ignored it. Right now, watching Cory Fraser throw away his precious rulebook to keep her safe was occupying all her attention.
"For what it's worth," she said as they turned onto the winding road to the old mining district, "I like this version of you. Even if it means I can't tease you about your manual anymore."
"I'm sure you'll find other things to mock."
"Oh, definitely. Your soup alphabetizing alone provides endless material."